Deltiology, I used to do that too, I blame my Uncle’s brother (who must therefore have been my Uncle Uncle, or Uncle twice removed, or similar ?).
Postcard collecting of course, well what else did you think I meant ?
My Uncle Tommy’s brother was a steward on the Queen Mary and then on the Queen Elizabeth II, he never married and so he was one of those men who people pointed at and nudged each other while whispering, “He might be one of them you know” while simultaneously adopting a limp wristed attitude in the manner of Larry Grayson and reciting his catchphrase “Shut that door”.
Whatever the status of my possibly gay Uncle Tommy’s brother he certainly knew how to send a postcard from a foreign clime, and of course he visited hundreds of foreign climes during the course of his 40 year employment with the Cunard line – and they all ended up in my hands, my Auntie Phyllis would hand me stacks of the bloody things every time I went around to their house, initially because she heard that I collected the stamps but then as collecting stamps became boring I started to collect the postcards instead, yes I know, doesn’t make much sense at all does it ?
I never met my potentially gay Uncle Tommy’s brother the Cunard steward, but I knew exactly where he had been but sadly not exactly what he had been up to while he was there for his postcard writing was a dismal affair, “Hi Tom, I’m here for twelve hours” would be written on the back of a postcard from Rio de Janeiro, how can anyone not write more about a visit, however truncated, to Rio, especially if that person was potentially gay ?
“Hi Tom, hope you’re keeping well” would be on the back of another postcard from Bondi Beach, “Hi Tom, sprained my ankle last week” from Hong Kong, “Hi Tom, can’t think of anything to write” from Dubai, the world should be glad that it was Neil Armstrong who first stepped onto the surface of the moon in 1969 and not my Uncle Tommy’s potentially gay brother or the most famous phrase in mankind would be, “Hi Tom, its a bit dusty”.